Qui Audet Adipiscitur
by junejulyautumn
Summary: The aim: 25 stories. 3 months. Rated M for mayhem, merriment, and mojo. Thank you and hello!
1. perspective

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: # 4

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T (language)

Word Count: 480

Soundchecks are not for rehearsal. They're not about trying harmony parts, modifying arrangements, or going twenty-three times over the stupid outro that Emmett's insisting on for the new song.

Soundchecks are about Pete, our engineer, who wants us to play the same thing time after time so that he can get his job right. He has the shits when we're not co-operative, which is always since the same thing time after time gets boring. So he's a grumpy guy.

This evening, like most evenings, he's sick of us mucking around and he tells us to fuck off, adding that it won't be his fault when the sound is crap later and people ask for their money refunded.

Heading to the band room Edward glances back and pauses, remarking, "Is there anything more desolate than a stage set for a performance, but devoid of all humanity?"

"Huh?" Emmett says, glancing back as well.

"Abandoned. Forsaken. Like the Mary Celeste," Edward continues. "Or like a table with empty chairs and uneaten food. Where have the people gone and why? It's lonely and sinister."

"_I_ think the stage looks like an art installation," Alice states. "A still life you can walk into and explore while you fantasize that you're a rockstar. Then you unknowingly get photographed by the artist, who's at the back of the room with a camera, and you discover when you attend his exhibition and see the pictures that _you_ are an integral part of his work and that the viewing public are voyeurs, spying on your private dream."

"God, you two - you're fuckwits," Emmett says. "You know what I see when I look at that stage? I see time running out. So many things I want to do between now and showtime - like eating, sleeping, playing pool, hanging in the bar to see if any hot girls turn up, going to the arcade and acing the top score on Galaga - I just can't do all of them. It stresses me out, man, gives me anxiety."

As usual, I have a different perspective.

"To me it's really exciting," I say. "There's an air of anticipation you can actually _feel_. Something's going to happen, you know it - something thrilling and fantastic. The band equipment just waiting there - the lights, the atmosphere - everything's buzzing with the possibility that tonight you could have the night of your life."

"Bella and the rest of you, you're all straight from bullshit mountain," Pete breaks in. "_And_ you're between me and the food, so stand aside or get trampled. They gave us food, right? Emmett, if you've eaten it I'll fucking eat _you_."

And so it goes, life on the road.


	2. meridian

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: 03

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 497

"Think of a line. What do you picture? A line! Exactly! It either starts and finishes or it's continuous, but however long or short it is, it's a line, and that's not only it's name, it's the description.

"And it's one-dimensional. Right? As soon as you add anything to it, like another line, or even a dot, you've moved into two dimensions.

"So. I can't even understand the idea of a line, to tell you the truth. As soon as I start thinking about it I'm screwed, because really, a line is more of a concept than a thing. It's an abstract, like for instance, the equator. An imaginary line, dissecting the earth. Meridians - the same. _Imaginary_, but they're so important that if you're born a single inch to one side or the other it determines which hemisphere you're from! How bizarre!"

This is Edward speaking. His mind really works like that, overthinking ordinary things that everyone understands and making them complicated.

"You know what else is bizarre? The inside of your head, " I tell him. Now _I'm_ going to have lines on the brain.

"And outline - " he carries on. "What does that even mean? It's a demarcation around something. But it doesn't so much show what's out as what's in - because let's face it, everything that isn't out is in. Right?"

"Outright," I nod. "Have you got any money?"

Being Edward, he knows that _have you got any money?_ is not the question. What I'm actually asking is will you go and buy me some icecream? And being Edward, he grins, clambers to his feet and lopes off in that shambolic gait of his, as I watch. I've got such a crush on him but he hasn't noticed and I've no idea how to tell him.

He comes back from the icecream truck with sundaes - hazelnut for me and double choc for him, though he'll eat half of mine anyway. While he was gone I was thinking.

"What about lines on a road?" I say. "On this side, you're going this way. On that side, you're going that way. Being on one side or the other of that line is the difference between coming and going."

"Arriving or leaving," he nods.

"Life or death," I add.

And then because I'm frustrated, or reckless, or maybe just because I want more of his attention, I go and lie down in the middle of the road. On the line.

He comes running after me, shouting.

"Jesus, Bella! What are you doing? Get up! "

"Which side are you on, Edward?" I ask, lying there. "Tell me."

"Your side, stupid girl!" he yells, grabbing my hand. We stumble to the verge, which is grassed, and fall over. He's grumbling, "You nearly gave me a heart attack," but the heart attack's mine, because he's holding my hand and not letting go.

And surely he remembers, since he's not stupid, that we were on the cycle path.


	3. surrendered

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: #06

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: K

Word Count: 484

Once far away and pretty too an island floated upon a peaceful lake. Adorning the island stood a four-turreted castle and within the castle lived a King and Queen, with three princes who were brothers. Equally, they were three brothers who were princes. One prince had a bride and another did as well, though the third was a solitary character, his heart ungiven.

Or so it was generally thought.

Actually, his page alone amongst all the castle occupants, knew that the third prince spent hours of some days and hours of others below the overhang of an embankment not viewable from the castle, crouched on one knee facing the lake and murmuring, "Fine thy dark eyes and pale thy slender neck. I entreat, impart to me thy name." When he returned to his chamber he flung himself miserably on his bed, groaning and tossing, until sitting to take up quill and scroll with which he composed poetry for the next day's murmurings.

You see, the prince's heart was not ungiven at all - it was completely surrendered. He was in love. Sadly, he could not declare his love his bride because she was not a person - the poor prince's beloved was a swan.

All this the page saw and he was sorry for his master's predicament, knowing the prince to be a kind and resolute soul, surely deserving of receiving the ardor he was capable of giving.

This page was not an ordinary boy - he had knowledge of secrets and power to enact them, and he resolved to ease the prince's despair. So one night he worked magic dark and heady.

The next afternoon the prince went to his usual visiting spot by the lake, but became distraught. He stumbled back to the castle blinded by tears, hair torn this way and everywhere, dirt smudged on him, though he would explain to nobody. Only the page knew the reason for his anguish - it was because the swan hadn't come.

Bringing warm scented water to the prince's chamber, the page said, "Sire, let us make you presentable. You have a visitor."

"I don't want to see anyone," the prince sighed.

"She waits at the end of the causeway, Sire," the page replied. "So sweetly."

Ablutions undertaken the prince made his way reluctantly to the barbican. Yards long the causeway was, and he could just make out a figure approaching. Closer she drew in a waft of snowy cloth with rich brown hair flowing to her elbows. Still closer, until he saw himself in her gaze.

"Welcome," he said, wondering.

"Fine my dark eyes and pale my tender neck," she said. Her voice was as husky as if those were its first ever words.

"Who are you?" he breathed, noting that she spoke the truth.

"I entreat, impart to me my name."

"Beautiful, Beautiful," he said, and that was just the beginning.


	4. busted

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: #23

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 499

Teleportation is a precise art, it turns out. Lapses in concentration at the wrong time can have disastrous consequences, like finding yourself in the tiger enclosure when the tiger happens to be hungry, or on the railtrack at 1539 after an announcement that the 1540 is running right on time. Ask me how I know!

Obviously, when I first started I made a few mistakes and it's a wonder I'm still alive. Being self-taught means there's no-one to ask for instructions or advice.

One thing I figured out early on though was not to let anyone see me. There's probably no quicker way to get bundled off to a top-secret laboratory somewhere to have your cells harvested and dna sequence mapped, and maybe even have some sort of neurological vivisection performed on your freak brain. No thanks. I want to complete school, freak brain intact, go to college, get highly qualified while having crazy fun, and hopefully meet some cute, smart, sweet boy to hang out with some of the time.

So I'm very careful about popping in and out of thin air.

The other night though, I'd been interstate for a haircut and I was careless coming home. I miscalculated by about four yards and landed outside my bedroom instead of inside. My bedroom which is _up_stairs. Yeah, so I was on the roof. Bella, you twit. I scrambled in and thought everything was fine.

Now, importantly, about two weeks before the hair adventure jaunt a new family had moved in next door, and they had a son who was a _dream_ and who I hadn't spoken to yet.

Well, I arrived at my front gate the day after the roof mistake, and there he was lounging on their porch looking pretty relaxed and way delicious. He sort of sauntered down the stairs and over to the fence between our houses.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Edward."

"Hey," I replied. "I'm Bella."

"Did I see you out the other night?"

I thought back. I don't really go out, other than, like, out of town, or out of the country.

"Don't think so," I said.

"Yeah, I did. Out on your _roof_. What was that all about?"

Crap. I'm busted. He'll turn me in to the mutant police. Think fast.

"I hit my tennis ball up there. I went to get it."

"I don't believe you."

Why the hell not? "All right, I admit - I do parkour, I was training."

"Nope."

"I'm practising to be a catburglar."

He shook his head. Give me a break, neighbor dream boy.

"Look, I snuck out, okay? Then I had to sneak back in."

He grinned. "Okay. Your secret's safe with me."

I didn't know what he meant, because I didn't know what he'd seen.

"You need to tell me a secret now, so that we're even," I told him.

"Yeah? Well. I like girls who can climb. Don't tell anyone."

And he turned around and went inside.

Leaving me staring after him.


	5. subtlety

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: #10

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: K

Word Count: 447

There's a wishing well in my head.

Now and again I mentally throw a coin in, so to speak, but not a great amount. Not my imaginary life-savings. Just pennies - thought pennies. Ha.

And I don't visit often, either, to see what's piled up down there. Maybe the old wishes that I've outgrown have evaporated or perhaps they've formed a layer of sludge, all salty-sweet. It could be that the next wish I whisper into the echo chamber will find an environment rich enough to super-grow it like Jack's beanstalk. But I don't want to waste wishes in case you only get three, like in fairy tales, so I'd better be careful. In other words, nothing frivolous like wishing I could sleep in or that it didn't rain when I've forgotten my umbrella.

It does occur to me that perhaps I don't need to spend so much time thinking about things like this. And it does occur to me that magic isn't real and that wishes don't come true.

So then I wish, harmlessly, that Edward Cullen would notice me.

A moment later he stops at my desk.

"Are you going to the party on Friday?" he asks.

And _presto!_ my doubts about magic burst into certainty.

Only I didn't know there was a party on Friday. I'm not very social, and I don't often get invitations. "I'm not sure," I say. Whose party? Where? What time?

And then suddenly, I can't bear that I'm so left out, a bystander always observing from the sidelines. I want to be at all the parties laughing, enjoying, living. I wish I was more popular.

"I _hope_ Bella's going!" a voice declares heartily, and it's Mike at the next desk.

"Bella - I'm so sorry, I sent you the details but my message bounced back, I must have your address wrong. I hope you can make it!" Angela says, close by.

"Of course I can," I nod, hiding my surprise at the surreality.

Then Edward shrugs. "I'm not really one for crowds," he says. "I thought if you weren't going maybe you'd like to see a movie with me."

And instantly I'm really sorry I tried to be something I wasn't. I wish I could take it back.

"Ah - " I say, awkwardly. "That sounds good. But I just said yes to Ange - "

"We could go to the party for a while and then the movie," Edward suggests.

"I'd really like that," I tell him.

And as a test I wish for curly hair. It doesn't happen, which means my three wishes are used up. Or it means magic doesn't exist. Or perhaps it means that magic works more subtly than you might expect.


	6. encouragement

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: #19

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: K

Word Count: 497

With the sibilance of hissing robes that always accompanied her entrance Signora Volterra swept into the classroom, exercising her unnerving ability to direct a penetrating and imperious gaze towards every student simultaneously. Well-trained, they rose as one.

"Be seated," she commanded, and they obeyed in unison.

"You are soon to leave me, _i miei figli_. The towering gates of this institute of learning will close behind you for the last time and you will have to establish your own way using whatever skills and knowledge you have acquired thus far, along with your intellect and instinct. I hope you find yourselves sufficiently equipped for the challenges that lie ahead. Your fate will be in your own hands, your lives will be your own responsibility - "

She paused dramatically on the brink of the precipice, her students breathless.

"With the future so close at hand, now is the time to declare your ambitions. Will you make an impression on the world? Shift its balance and reverse its tides? You are the rare ones, the few, made not from sticky clay but _elemental_, forged in flame and unbound by lowly convention. Wonders wait for those who dare to dream - _you_ my dears, dare to dream of wonders."

They hung on her words, eyes shining.

"And what will you _do_? What will you _be_? I have long urged you to give thought to your intended pursuit. Now I ask you to give voice. Who will divulge first? Who will tell me?"

No hands were raised, no-one willing to risk Signora's legendary, withering disapproval should they name something she deemed unworthy.

"With a scarcity of volunteers I shall select one. Edward Cullen. As a man, an adult, independent of thought and deed - what will be your occupation?"

_D-damn_, Edward thought, so nervous he stuttered in his head. Signora's impatience was as well-known as her temper though - best not be slow in declaring himself.

"A gravedigger," he muttered.

In the quiet that followed, a single gasp sounded like a tempest and Edward felt the weight of all eyes on him.

"A _gravedigger_?" Signora Volterra repeated. "Pray grace us with your explanation as to the appeal of such an occupation, and why you think it would be particularly suited to you."

"It would be night work. I could dress in black. I wouldn't have to talk to many people," he said, flustered. "I wouldn't have to be in the same place all the time. I could be creative - "

"How inspired - a _creative_ gravedigger," the Signora interrupted scornfully.

Edward felt himself turn scarlet. "Ah - I - uh - gravedigger? Is that what I said?"

He cursed the shyness that often caused him to muddle his words.

"I meant grave_robber_!"

"Ah," Signora Volterra smiled in relief. "That's _much_ better, Edward. I'm gratified that here at the Academy for the Morbidly Macabre, the encouragement I give my students to consider career options that will be rewarding and enjoyable isn't entirely in vain."


	7. excellent

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: # 11

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 495

That day we drove to the beach. Capital f Fun. Way too fast - amazing we didn't crash or get pulled over by cops or just take off airborne as if that long straight road was a runway.

Everyone says you shouldn't put any part of your body out of the window of a moving car and that's so nothing gets cut off. But you can only get bits of you cut off if there's something there besides air, right? I stuck my hand out to feel the breeze and that was so good the rest of my arm followed on and then fuck, my whole head was out too and I was loving the feeling.

Lee-lee, driving, squealed with delight at her first glimpse of the ocean, but you should have seen the state of the windscreen - dirt and dust and squashed bugs on it. The ocean was way clearer to me than her.

And then Lee-lee nearly swerved all the way off the fuckin asphalt. A hitchhiker, one o'clock and moving into the future - a moment later he was at two and we were closer.

"Are we gonna stop?" she yelled to us. She couldn't see as well as I could.

"You bet," I yelled back, despite our car already being full, because he was gorgeous.

Three o'clock and we braked next to him and I bet even through bugshit he was still gorgeous.

"Need a lift?" Lee-lee simpered.

"Thanks," was his easy smiling answer and I wriggled over as close to Chelse as I could without sitting on top of her while our new passenger swung himself in alongside me. It was half an hour to the beach, and half an hour of a rock-hard thigh pressed against my leg, and of having the breath squashed out of me by broad shoulders and an arm that felt like granite.

"I'm not crushing you am I?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," I croaked, because, really, go ahead. Crush me.

And he smelled _intoxicating_. Like, good clean sweat and man and heat. Five females in a confined space with that smell - ten ovaries sat bolt upright and started to yodel.

He was given an inquisition he obviously enjoyed, laughing at our giggly attention which was probably the sort of thing he was used to. He wasn't shy and he didn't get uncomfortable.

"Edward. Chicago, just moved here. Architect. Intern. Supposed to be meeting my cousin but I guess we got our wires crossed and didn't quite connect. I figure he's already at the beach and I'll find him. Hey - you might know him. Peter Randall?"

"Pete said his cousin's name is Cullen," Jane said, from the front seat.

"That would be me, Edward Cullen, sitting right here," Edward answered.

"We're meeting up with Pete and some mates for a bonfire," Chelse said.

"Excellent," Edward grinned.

He glanced at me, then glanced away, but I thought I saw something. A flicker?

Capital e Excellent.


	8. romance

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: # 12

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 479

"You'll never guess what I did on Friday night," Rachel said.

"I know what you did on Friday night. I was with you, remember?" I answered.

"Not the whole time," she said.

"Yes, the whole time. We went to that club so you could see that douchebag you've got the hots for, and we drank beer and danced to horrible music and then you came back with me and slept over at my place."

"That's not all that happened."

She's smug, or something, my sister. I'm starting to feel suspicious.

"If anything else had happened I would have seen it."

"You think?"

For God's sake. "I would know," I insist.

"You don't know everything," she says. "And don't call my boyfriend a douchebag."

"_Boyfriend?_ Paul Lahote doesn't know you're alive!" I assure her.

"Since Friday he does," she smirks.

That's it. We grew in the same womb, so she's been around all my life and I thought I knew her inside out, but there's definitely something here that I'm not getting. And she's about to tell me exactly what it is.

"All right then," I said warily. "Friday. Yes?"

"Me and Paul - we did it."

"Did what?"

"_It._"

She couldn't mean - surely not - she hadn't -

"_What the fuck?_"

"Oh yeah," she purred.

Impossible. I was with her the whole night! Oh crap - except for that time I went to the bar and she went to the bathroom. She was gone for ages and when she came back her makeup was all touched up, so I thought she'd been in there indulging her favorite pastime, which is preening in front of the mirror.

"I'm going to fucking strangle him!" I fumed. "Right after I strangle you! Don't you have more respect for yourself than that? Don't you ask more of a guy than a quick grope and a screw in a toilet cubicle?"

"We were in the stairwell," she said, starting to look a little deflated. "He kissed me. He was sweet. He said nice things."

"Well, that makes all the difference," I drawl with deep sarcasm. "I'm sure he loves you."

"He wrote his number on my hand."

He did? "Yeah, his number. Sure."

"And his skype i-d on my other hand."

Really? "Huh."

"And he got an old store receipt from his wallet and wrote his email address on it, and folded it up small and tucked it in my bra."

Jesus. Lahote - overkill, much? Maybe he does like her. Maybe I can let him live. I mean, he's not really a douche, he's a friend of mine. I just didn't want to see my sister hurt.

"Still, Rachel - a stairwell? For your first time with him? And they say romance is dead."

"Yeah - like you've never done it, Jacob. Bella Swan - at the cinema?"

Damn. I just got pwned.


	9. unmatched

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**

**thetwilight25 dot com**

**Prompt: # 05**

**Pen Name: junejulyautumn**

**Pairing/Character(s):**

**Rating: T**

**Word Count: 540**

Jasper is Edward's best friend. They met over a decade ago at a party. Both of them quick-witted and sarcastic, laughing at the same things and talking for hours. They sought each other out the next day.

There's barely been a week since that they haven't spoken. Usually they get together, indulging their mutual interests. Movies. Talking. Partying. Jasper's good-looking and easy-going, Edward's handsome and enigmatic. Girls flock around and it's always somebody's lucky night.

Then suddenly Jasper has a steady girlfriend, Alice. He wants to spend more time with her than with Edward. Edward can't see the appeal.

"You'll find out one day, mate. Love. Best thing that's ever happened," Jasper says.

Alice hasn't taken to Edward, so she doesn't tag along when he and Jasper see each other. They can still philosophize and rule the world.

A year or two later Alice leaves, and Jasper is shattered. During his recovery Edward meets Kate. He's a boyfriend at last but not a very invested one. He doesn't love her. Jasper finds Heidi, but he isn't really over Alice. Kate moves on, Heidi moves on. Jasper decides a sabbatical might do him good and he flies interstate.

While away, he meets another girl. She's Bella, he's exultant, she's The One. He rings Edward to introduce them. Unexpectedly, she and Edward talk for ten minutes until Jasper, laughing, reclaims the phone. The next week she answers Jasper's cell when Edward calls and they share another ten minute conversation, effortless and enjoyable. Returning home the following year, Jasper brings Bella. Edward waits at the airport to collect them, shit-scared. One meeting is enough to escalate the private trouble he's already in.

With Jasper close again Edward sees him often, but he doesn't come to their house. The only time he does he's surly, which Jasper ignores since Edward has always been unpredictable.

Then Jasper says the recipe he's using calls for wine and asks Bella to get some.

"Sure," she answers.

Edward says, "I'll come with you."

Outside she questions him, "You've never visited, and now you're here and you're sulky. What's the matter?"

He scowls. "Since you're asking - I love you."

"I know," she nods.

"That's your reaction? _Fuck_."

He strides to the nearest bar, but not to buy wine. He sits and orders whiskey.

"What do you expect me to say?" she asks, having followed.

He shrugs.

"I'm with Jasper."

"I'm aware of that."

Alone with her, he's never felt more alive, or more in pain.

"We need to go back," she reminds him.

"I don't want to. Kiss me."

Bella says, "Don't be inappropriate," but on the stairs she pauses, considering. Her mouth on his is so shocking that he hasn't joined in before she's withdrawing.

"You taste - " she breathes.

She doesn't say what he tastes.

At her door he refuses to stay for dinner, won't even go inside.

After that he avoids her completely. If he sees her again, he'll want to pick her up and carry her off, and there's a terrifying possibility that she'll let him. But they'd break a good heart, and he won't be responsible for that. He'd rather live unmatched than hurt Jasper.

Jasper is Edward's best friend.

**A/N Yes, it's over the limit. It started out 800+ so I cut a lot out!**

**I'll come back to it and trim some more, I just wanted to post it because I haven't put anything up for ages. I'm fighting with three other chapters that are several hundred words too long as well….**


	10. birthday

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: # 18

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 2729

At school I'm sometimes called Sunny, but it's not about my temperament. I'm also called Snowy. The two seemingly contradictory names tie up, with Sunny being short for Sunshy, which I'm told is one of the two most notable things about me. Snowy is short for Snowskin - the other notable thing. Mom says the nicknames are endearments, and whoever thought of them must like me a lot. That kind of grosses me out because Coach Clapp is responsible on both counts.

But this semester I'm not the only deathly white person in the school. Far from it, in fact.

Mom had mentioned a couple of weeks before school was due to start that there was a new surgeon coming to take up a position at our local hospital. Apparently he had five kids. "Wow, his wife sure enjoys pregnancy," I'd commented, but Mom had said, "No, I hear they're the same age." "_Quintuplets? _Are theyidentical?" I asked in awe, but she'd shrugged and said "nope - adoptees," like it was no big deal, because, yeah, loads of people adopt five kids. And I was thinking they'd be little, like pre-schoolers or something, but there on the first day, in the cafeteria at Horizon View High, the student body was agape at five unfamiliar people sitting around one of the tables. Each of them was just as chalky, milky, pale, and _snowy_ as me. Take that, Coach Clapp.

One of them, Edward, sat next to me in biology that afternoon. Then again in English Lit. He was bright - that much was obvious immediately. He also had what was probably an unintentional ability to bring out the hidden hospitality angel in almost every girl who laid eyes on him. I mean, I introduced myself and asked if he was managing to find his way around - but classmates were offering to take him into town and show him all the attractions, and some of them were so brazen as to make it implicit that they were talking about their very own, _personal _attractions. A fair bit of cleavage was being flashed his way. He was handsome, it had to be said, and I wondered how he'd react to all that attention, but he declined the invitations politely and turned to me remarking, "Everyone's very friendly here."

"That's because you look like Ryan Gosling," I told him.

"No, I don't," he frowned.

"Oh yeah - you don't. Everyone's very friendly here," I said.

I'm not a particularly chatty type and he proved not to be either, so we didn't spend hours a day exchanging pleasantries, but over the weeks that followed Edward didn't appear to be settling in. His siblings were doing fine and making friends but he wasn't going out anywhere. Winter break came and went without him showing up at any social events, and he didn't date. I went to his house a couple of times, hanging out by the pool with his sisters, and didn't even see him because he stayed in his room.

Then back at school if I asked him on Mondays how his weekend had been he only ever shrugged and mumbled.

"Are you, like, a weekend narcoleptic?" I asked him once.

"Pardon?" he said.

"Do you sleep all Saturday and Sunday?"

"No."

"Are you a misanthrope?"

"No."

"Of melancholic disposition? An avowed and dedicated loner?"

He raised an eyebrow and directed a smirk at me. "Where are you going with this line of questioning?"

And Jesus, so far I'd been immune to the Edward chick-attractor power that turned female heads whenever he was in the vicinity, but with that one crooked grin I just goggled at him and blushed scarlet.

"Nowhere. Um - why don't you socialize?" I muttered.

"You've never asked me out," he said.

Well, I started coughing. My trachea nearly came out. I thought I might lose a lung. While I was hacking and gasping away I imagined myself actually collapsing and ending up dead on the floor without ever having had the chance to work out what he meant by that comment.

Luckily I recovered sufficiently to sit there embarrassed all to hell, with my hand over my mouth.

"Ms Swan - what's the matter? Do you need to see the nurse?" Mr Berty asked.

"It's my asthma," I croaked, nodding.

"I'll take her, sir," Edward said, and he actually put his arm around me and walked me out of the classroom.

"Where's your inhaler? Is it in your bag? Your locker?" he asked in the corridor, all concern. "I didn't know you were asthmatic!"

"I'm not," I admitted. "I just swallowed funny. I got a bubble in my throat."

Edward stared at me, startled, then started to laugh. "You're an original, you know that?" he said.

If his sardonic half-smile had made an idiot of me, the full happy face was even more potent. What little composure I had left disappeared and I grinned back at him like a complete loon.

And after that Edward sort of cheered up a bit. It transpired that he was only prepared to go anywhere if I was going too, which very quickly morphed into the two of us dating. It also transpired that he wasn't averse to going out per se, he just didn't go out _much_. I found that he wasn't into stuff like sports afternoons in the parks, or pool parties, so we were a match made in dark interiors, both preferring night-time things like seeing movies or bands. Best of all, it transpired that he was a very, very good kisser. Oh, God. His tongue was like a paintbrush, crafting masterpieces inside my mouth that no-one would ever see, but that I could taste. He left his invisible brush strokes elsewhere too, creating cave paintings in places hidden and hitherto forbidden.

However I felt there was still an underlying issue bothering him. Often when I visited he just wanted to stay in and he couldn't be persuaded to leave the house. He wasn't really forthcoming about any of it, and his siblings hedged when I asked them. I subtly asked his mother if he was agoraphobic and she sighed, but didn't confirm or deny it.

"Edward," I said one day while we were lying on his bed with our legs entwined like a stack interchange, "um - ". His hand was hovering at the hem of my blouse and his lips were on my throat. I had a very small window of opportunity to speak before neither of us could any more.

"Mmm," he managed, which might not have been a response.

"Edward," I tried again.

"Mmm."

"Can we talk?"

His head came up and his eyes half-opened. "Talk?"

"Yeah. Sometimes you seem down, like, disconnected. And you get kind of listless. Are you, you know, okay?"

"Sure," he murmured. "Right now I'm fucking fantastic."

"I mean, like _okay_ okay. The rest of the time."

I took his face in my hands and his gaze slid down from mine and to the side in an evasive way. That's when I knew he was hiding something. However, the expression I briefly glimpsed before his eyelids shielded his eyes nearly broke my heart - he didn't look sly or guilty. He looked bleak.

"Edward? What is it? Whatever it is, you can tell me," I whispered, kissing his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, everything softly as a snowflake.

"Nothing," he shook his head, but he looked at me again and this time his expression was despairing.

"Let me in," I urged him. "Trust me."

"Well - I have a condition," he said slowly.

"What sort of condition?"

"It's not well understood, but it's a type of seasonal affective disorder. Have you heard of that?"

"People who get depressed in winter?"

He gave me a rueful smile. "That's generally how it works, yes. In my case though, it's not a lack of light that's the problem. Sunlight gives me insomnia and causes appetite loss. So yeah, I don't eat or sleep too well. I don't even like being outside, you will have noticed. And another symptom is irritability, so I try and avoid being around people when I know I'm short-tempered."

I drew back to stare at the alabaster skin of his cheeks, such a contrast to the almost-plum of his lips, to the autumn-colored eyes that matched the fall shades of his hair.

"Is there treatment?" I asked.

"The disorder is caused by irregular brain chemistry, and anti-depressants are the only known treatment. But I don't like to take them," he said. "They exacerbate the sleeping problems. Now you think I'm weird, don't you? A freak who avoids the daylight because he's scared of it."

He looked a lot more scared about how I might be reacting to this new knowledge about him than whatever fears the day might cause. And anyway...

"Scared of daylight?" I said, soft and low to soothe him, reaching out because he'd slipped away and was at the edge of the bed, tense. "Edward, please. You've heard people call me Sunny?" I told him what it meant, and the relief spread through him, loosening his tight limbs and bringing him back to me. After the disbelief, the frown, the slow sweep of his eyes over the parts of me that he could see that were just as icy-white as him, his smile illuminated the whole room.

"Did you have any symptoms of SAD before you came to Phoenix?" I asked, pre-kiss, and he sighed a little.

"We lived in Alaska. I was tired a lot and I always wanted sunglasses on, so the indications were there, just not so pronounced that they were indicative. My father thought I was photo-sensitive and my brothers thought I was a wanker," he answered.

"A wanker? What does that mean? Show me," I demanded, and he laughed and I laughed and that concluded that part of the conversation.

So we continued to cocoon ourselves indoors and Edward's state of being improved somewhat with me knowing about and accepting his disorder, but it wasn't curable. He still suffered. And summer break was coming up. As it got closer Edward retreated, already anticipating the worst.

I was talking to Esme, his Mom, in their kitchen one day, and I said I'd had an idea. I didn't know if it would help him, it was just a suggestion and she'd probably think I was nuts. But she said she loved it, and she even hugged me. She said we could do it together.

I got online and got busy. We told his brothers and sisters what we were planning and they got busy too, after the secrecy pact we sealed in blood. I didn't like keeping something from Edward but I wanted to present him with a fait-accomplit, not a yet-to-materialize scheme. Their dad even helped too, in what little time he had spare. The whole thing needed to be finished by June, for Edward's birthday, because that's what I'd decided.

Meanwhile, of course school went on as normal, and there was nothing to worry about on the home front. Things with Mom were relaxed, her being distracted by her love life and me being distracted by mine. Dad was a long way away but as close as my cell. What I had named Project A was gathering momentum with packages starting to arrive, and with various members of Edward's family making trips to hardware stores and craft emporia. We were right on track for June 20, at the beginning of summer break.

On the day, I went round to Edward's in the morning. Saying a private hello to him in his bedroom took about fifteen minutes and a lot of self-control - I had to make sure my mouth was occupied at all times so I didn't spill the beans. Kissing curbed my blabbing compulsion nicely.

Downstairs we walked back into the hub-bub of teasing, laughing, mockery and mild abuse that was the hallmark of interactions between this noisy bunch of siblings. Despite his enthusiasm for the kissing he wasn't in too sparkly a mood but he was trying to act as though he was for his family's sake. Needless to say, there was an air of great excitement amongst the rest of us about the surprise. I was nearly bubbling over.

"So, Bella - have you given Edward his gift yet?" his sister Rosalie asked.

"What do you think she's been doing for the last ten minutes?" his brother Emmett snickered.

I fetched my rucksack and unzipped it, handing Edward a smallish parcel. Suggestions came from all sides as to what it might be.

"Edward - Bella bought you a pony!"

"It's a bicycle!"

"I think it looks like a hockey stick."

He was smiling at me as he peeled back the paper to reveal a knitted beanie and a matching scarf.

"Bella?" he said, clearly puzzled. It was over a hundred degrees outside.

"I made them," I said.

"They're lovely. I didn't know you could do this kind of stuff," he answered, trying to keep a 'I just discovered my girlfriend is crazy' look off his face.

"Real nice, Bella. Just his color," Emmett said, nodding while edging away. The rest of Edward's family walked backwards out of the room as Edward put the beanie on.

"Yeah, I love the color," he agreed. "Honestly. Hey - where did everyone go?"

"Um - I think maybe the garage?" I said. "Shall we look for them?"

"No," Edward snorted, but his mother's voice floated to us from the hallway, calling his name, so he shrugged and followed, taking my hand. We opened the hall door leading to the garage beneath the house, and the air in the staircase was much cooler than in the living room.

"Why would she be down here?" he asked me, but she called again, so we shut the door behind us and descended.

And when we got to the bottom Edward's mouth literally dropped open.

I'd bought four different giant wall decals of parkland in fall, and covered the walls with them. Edward's brothers had installed a lighting system that utilised daylight effect halogen bulbs. Esme had scrounged auctions until she'd found old park furniture which she and his sisters had sanded back and cleaned up. And I'd bought thousands, and I mean thousands, of artificial leaves that we'd scattered over the concrete floor. They were glorious colors - gold, chestnut, maroon, crimson, with brilliant greens and warm browns mixed in. The boys had set up pedestal fans with ice trays in front of them to blow cool air around the room, and the temperature was hovering at around sixty degrees. Not that cold, really, but way, way colder than anywhere else in the state of Arizona that wasn't inside a fridge.

Edward was astonished. He was speechless. Emmett couldn't stop laughing at him and Esme was just delighted. After a while he recovered enough so that the five of us could sit around the table playing cards for an hour or so while we waited for Carlisle to get home from the hospital. He brought a huge picnic basket with a ton of food, and coffee for everyone. It was all so damn fucking fun, and of course the best thing was Edward looking the happiest I'd ever seen him. He was grinning so much trying to stuff his mouth full of birthday cake that he dropped crumbs everywhere.

After lunch his family announced that they'd give us a bit of time together, although they all remarked heartily that they'd far rather stay in their new autumn room than return to the heat upstairs.

"I'm sure you would, that's very nice, now go," Edward scolded. He and I lounged around on the park bench, admiring the view side-by-side until he pulled me onto his lap.

"Was this your idea? Did you plan it?" he asked.

"Pretty much, yeah," I said.

"It's amazing. Awesome. So are you. This is the best birthday I've ever had. God, it's incredible. _You're_ incredible," he said. "I'm just blown away that you'd do something like this for me."

"I wanted you to feel good," I said, his pleasure making me tingle.

"Jesus, Bella, if there's anything that makes me feel good it's you," he said, "and you and me together in a northern autumn in a southern June."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Clearly a complete and utter failure as far as the word count goes.

I've realised I'm not going to get the challenge finished so I'll just keep plugging away at the other prompts and see how far I get.


	11. torture

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: # 13

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 503

Surely she has no idea what she's doing, so it's not deliberate, but it's hard. No, Jesus, that's not the right word. Well, fuck, actually it's exactly the right word, but he's not a creep or a pervert so he could never tell her how hard - no, how _difficult_ she makes things for him when she does the things she does. For a start, she'd stop and God, he doesn't want that. She'd hate him, and he doesn't want that. She'd slap him across his depraved face and storm right out of his life. He couldn't bear that.

So he nods and listens with the brotherly, neighborly interest he knows she expects, and after she's gone home he regards himself wretchedly in the mirror, another day closer to damnation, or implosion.

Once, she kissed him. It was six months ago, but still vividly etched in his mind. She'd arrived swinging half a bottle of cranberry juice liberally mixed with vodka, and wanting to cry on his shoulder about the guy she'd just broken up with. After jagged tears which wrenched his heart, she'd chugged down more alcohol, then put her mouth against his. Realizing she was already drunk, he'd been careful not to kiss her back with enthusiasm. He hadn't wanted to take advantage.

"Edward, you're a good friend," she'd sniffed. "You're warm, I'm comfortable with you, you're always here for me."

'Yeah, Mr Dependable', he'd thought. Neither of them have mentioned the drunken kiss since.

Tonight she's wearing the tiniest skirt that ever barely existed and a pale blue oversize sweater, and she's talking about yoga. She's describing positions, which she calls asanas. Worse, she wants to demonstrate them. He'll be tortured even more than usual if she's going to draw attention to her body like that.

"So, the Half Pigeon Pose," she says, perched on his bed with legs akimbo, "improves the flexibility of the hips."

It doesn't bear thinking about.

She says the Fish Pose will open your ribcage. He replies his ribcage is fine thanks, not wanting to see her lying there, arching her back, raising her chest. When she explains the Downward Facing Dog he thinks he might have to leave the room.

"Bella, no more yoga, okay? My muscles hurt just listening."

"A Half Lotus won't kill you. Try it - it's easy. See?" she pleads, drawing her bare legs up, knees wide, one ankle across the other calf. What he can _almost_ see is her panties.

"I'm calling an ambulance to take you to hospital so that you can get a full-body cast put on now that you've torn all your ligaments," he says, desperately grabbing his phone and staring at it to avoid staring at her.

That means he doesn't catch her chewing her thumbnail the way she always does when she's upset.

He misses the disappointment in her eyes and the tiny shake of her head as she wonders why she's so bad at flirting, and how she can let him know how much she wants him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

503 words! Go me!


	12. pretty

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: # 07

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 1171

There was an old man who lived in the woods and some people called him The Old Man Who Lives In The Woods.

His name was Jack and he used to be a lumberjack and some people called him Old Man Lumberjack Jack.

I called him Grandpa. My Dad told me to.

Dad told me something else, too. He said "Son, put your hoodie on and go take this basket of food to your grandfather."

Off I went, though it was cold and damp. I trudged for ages. The woods are big and there are a lot of trees in them, and the old man's house was not only on the other side of the forest, it was a long way away. Dad told me not to stray from the path. Or was it not to stay on the path? I had my earbuds in at the time, listening to Hungry Like The Wolf.

Question: How hungry was I getting? Answer: Really hungry. Question: What was there to eat? Answer: Whatever was in the basket. (Cans of tunafish, a bag of potatoes) Or the trees. (Squirrels. Maybe eggs. Not squirrel eggs.) Or on the ground (Leaves. Twigs. Mushrooms.)( Wait - mushrooms? I love mushrooms!)(Twigs? I could build a fire. I could pick mushrooms and spear them with sticks to make kebabs!)(To eat!)

Thinking back, Dad might have said, 'Never eat any wood mushrooms." Or he might have said, 'Never meet many good brushgrooms.' I had my earbuds in at the time, listening to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

Never mind, some way off the path I found what I was looking for and did what I was thinking about. After my meal I made sure I put the fire out, then proceeded on my way.

I was lucky I guess, having no map or compass, that the trees knew when I lost my direction and they pointed it out. A horse came by covered in smoke and oranges and the fish in wheelbarrows tied themselves into a vertical chain. Cicadas were singing bell sounds and sneezing to make the worms come up and look. Traffic lights bent over double under the weight of clouds and sprang back like elastic. I had to stop walking when I got a bee sting on my tongue, then crawl until I could stand up again between the cushions, even though they were odd numbers.

By the time the cottage landed nearby, it was gingerbread, which I hadn't noticed often before. The windowpanes were sugarglass and the chimneys were licorice. The eyes on the paving stones could see into my soles. I knew Grandpa wasn't my grandfather, I knew he was an opera singer who'd carried half a teaspoon half a mile in half a torn envelope and was on the run from the bus driver because of his socks.

But he liked to be called Mandovar whenever it was a weekday.

First, I went to his bedroom and there was a mermaid in his bed. She would have been naked if it weren't for the shadow from the biscuit. Her hair was almost ready to jump.

"Who are you?" I said.

She might have said, 'The nurse from the agency' or she might have said, 'The cursed one with vagrancy'.

"What big eyes you have," I told her, noticing too that she was alone and winged and very pretty. "Why are you here?"

I think she said, 'I live in,' or maybe it was, 'I give in'. Whatever it was didn't matter because if I didn't kiss her I'd die.

When I approached she formed two vertical lines on her forehead, strange purple tattoos, and she said, "You must be Edward. Jack's outside. He's expecting you."

Of course he was outspied, having been suspecting me for years.

"Did you eat him?" I asked, though she was slender. And splendor.

She came up so close to me I could see the topography of her skin.

"Get these out of your ears. Now, can you hear me properly? Have you been taking drugs?" she said. Her hands held spaghetti.

"Breaking bugs? Why would I do that?"

"Your pupils are dilated, you're perspiring," she said, and yes, my pupils were considerably elated, a girl so gorgeous near enough to climb right in to them. I was desiring all right. She raised a cream and silver seashell finger to place its tip to my throat and it went all the way through. I felt the puncture, the wound. Felt her inside me.

"Your heart is racing," she said.

"My art is _always_ bracing," I said, so much of my blood trying to escape to the sky. I didn't want her to see all the mercury. I knew it might look spiky or curly, and the flowers wouldn't be her favorites.

"Is it summer yet?" I asked to distract her.

"Edward, I'm sure you're tired," she answered. "I can give you something to help you sleep."

"I'll sweep, if you'll dance with me," I replied, because dizziness like a sieve was over my head when the wall moved and with the bed upright everything was much easier. But she might go, and then I'd never have seen her.

"What's your name?"

"Isabella. Now let me hang up your jacket, it's wet. Here, swallow this."

It was one of the sweets from the fireplace. Maybe blue, maybe orange - they're all the same. There was a cup too, of river stones which ran clattering down my back after I'd swallowed them without chewing.

Then Isabella gently pushed me towards the bed which was alive and crouched in a camel pose. It swayed like a skipping rope, making my tongue split, but Isabella had become a fawn slowly and the rug stopped most of the noise, only tick-tocking now and again.

"Did my grandfather change his will?" I asked her once I was lying down. "Did he leave everything to you?"

"Try to sleep. Everything is all right," she said.

"You'll have to marry me so I get it all back, and we'll share it together," I murmured. "We'll live right here, happily ever laughter." I felt her wanting to smile as we both sailed away.

When I woke I was in my own bed at home and my father was knocking on the door.

"Edward, I want you take this basket of food to your grandfather," he said.

"Okay. Sure. He was pretty quick if he's already gotten through the stuff I took yesterday," I mumbled.

"What are you talking about?" my father answered. "It's Saturday. You were at college all day yesterday."

"But - " I said, frowning, "I met his nurse."

"Oh yes, he said he's hired someone to keep an eye on him at home. She's starting this morning," my father said. "Now, up you get, sleepyhead. You've slept for hours, it's time to get going. And by the way, it's cold out. You'll need your jacket."

Do you think I could find the damn thing?


	13. fragments

The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: # 08

Pen Name: junejulyautumn

Pairing/Character(s):

Rating: T

Word Count: 360

I blame the strawberry margaritas. Well, them and Ricky Martin. According to the smirking deejay at the nightclub, someone involved with the party had requested that She Bangs be played over and over - and what's a drunk, happy girl to do? I was up there on the dancefloor shaking my booty with joyful abandon. I was writhing all over the guy I was dancing with, and that was before I dragged him out onto the balcony for kissing and undulation. Continuing on my wild latin rampage back in the hotel room, I probably bruised his hipbones.

Probably? I would say it's almost definite, given the tender state of my own hipbones right now. I may not recall everything, but I certainly remember pummeling him into the mattress. I remember him doing the same to me. In fact, now that I think of it, my hipbones aren't all that's a little sore this morning, although really, I feel fantastic.

Glancing back inside I see he's still asleep, hair tousled, legs stretched luxuriantly against the crisp white of the sheets, an arm obscuring his face. He's blatantly naked, and his body is gorgeous. I don't know how I got so lucky.

I'm leaning on the railing, gazing contentedly out over the sparkling sea when arms slide around me and a husky voice says, "Hello, beautiful girl." I arch back into him and grin like a Cheshire Cat. When soft warm lips kiss the side of my neck I purr like one, too.

Turning in his embrace, I raise my head for a good, clear look at him.

And like a light being switched on, more fragments come flashing back to me - the way I behaved, the things I did with this man, both before and after I got him away from the nightclub,

from the _reception,_

and who he _is_.

Dear God. Last night, I lured the _bridegroom_ away from his own wedding celebration.

"What are you thinking, my love?" he murmurs, and then I remember the best part.

It had been my wedding celebration, too. Yesterday I married him. He's my husband.

"I'm thinking you should take me back to bed," I say.

And oh, he does.


End file.
